"I'm going to get out of this,"he said to himself slowly and with fierce emphasis."I'm not for dying and I won't die!"He stumbled on a few steps,a little black snake crept out of its bed of mud,and looked at him with yellow eyes protruding from its upraised head.He kicked it savagely away -a crumpled,shapeless mass.It was a piece of brutality typical of the man.Ahead he fancied that the air was clearer -the fetid mists less choking -in the deep night-silence a few hours back he had fancied that he had heard the faint thunder of the sea.If this were indeed so,it would be but a short distance now to the end of his journey.With dull,glazed eyes and clenched hands,he reeled on.A sort of stupor had laid hold of him,but through it all his brain was working,and he kept steadily to a fixed course.Was it the sea in his ears,he wondered,that long,monotonous rolling of sound,and there were lights before his eyes -the lights of Buckomari,or the lights of death!
They found him an hour or two later unconscious,but alive,on the outskirts of the village.
Three days later two men were seated face to face in a long wooden house,the largest and most important in Buckomari village.
Smoking a corn-cob pipe and showing in his face but few marks of the terrible days through which he had passed was Scarlett Trent -opposite to him was Hiram Da Souza,the capitalist of the region.
The Jew -of Da Souza's nationality it was impossible to have any doubt -was coarse and large of his type,he wore soiled linen clothes and was smoking a black cigar.On the little finger of each hand,thickly encrusted with dirt,was a diamond ring,on his thick,protruding lips a complacent smile.The concession,already soiled and dog-eared,was spread out before them.
It was Da Souza who did most of the talking.Trent indeed had the appearance of a man only indirectly interested in the proceedings.
"You see,my dear sir,"Da Souza was saying,"this little concession of yours is,after all,a very risky business.These niggers have absolutely no sense honour.Do I not know it -alas -to my cost?"Trent listened in contemptuous silence.Da Souza had made a fortune trading fiery rum on the Congo and had probably done more to debauch the niggers he spoke of so bitterly than any man in Africa.
"The Bekwando people have a bad name -very bad name.As for any sense of commercial honour -my dear Trent,one might as well expect diamonds to spring up like mushrooms under our feet.""The document,"Trent said,"is signed by the King and witnessed by Captain Francis,who is Agent-General out here,or something of the sort,for the English Government.It was no gift and don't you think it,but a piece of hard bartering.Forty bearers carried our presents to Bekwando and it took us three months to get through.
There is enough in it to make us both millionaires.
"Then why,"Da Souza asked,looking up with twinkling eyes,"do you want to sell me a share in it?""Because I haven't a darned cent to bless myself with,"Trent answered curtly."I've got to have ready money.I've never had my fist on five thousand pounds before -no,nor five thousand pence,but,as I'm a living man,let me have my start and I'll hold my own with you all."Da Souza threw himself back m his chair with uplifted hands.
"But my dear friend,"he cried,"my dear young friend,you were not thinking -do not say that you were thinking of asking such a sum as five thousand pounds for this little piece of paper!"The amazement,half sorrowful,half reproachful,on the man's face was perfectly done.But Trent only snorted.
"That piece of paper,as you call it,cost us the hard savings of years,it cost us weeks and months in the bush and amongst the swamps -it cost a man's life,not to mention the niggers we lost.
Come,I'm not here to play skittles.Are you on for a deal or not?
If you're doubtful about it I've another market.Say the word and we'll drink and part,but if you want to do business,here are my terms.Five thousand for a sixth share!""Sixth share,"the Jew screamed,"sixth share?"Trent nodded.
"The thing's worth a million at least,"he said."A sixth share is a great fortune.Don't waste any time turning up the whites of your eyes at me.I've named my terms and I shan't budge from them.
You can lay your bottom dollar on that."
Da Souza took up the document and glanced it through once more.
"The concession,"he remarked,"is granted to Scarlett Trent and to one Monty jointly.Who is this Monty,and what has he to say to it?"Trent set his teeth hard,and he never blenched.
